


We'll Carry On

by grace_lou_freebush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Deathly Hallows AU, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Funerals, Major character death - Freeform, POV Harry Potter, Smut, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush
Summary: Ron leaves during the search for Horcruxes and doesn't come back, allowing Harry and Hermione to grow closer. But during the funerals following the Final Battle, Harry hopes that even feeling broken and defeated, they will carry on.HP Pop Punk Fest 2021 - Day 1, Welcome to the Black ParadeAfter they set up the tent and administered their wards together, Harry turned on the Wizarding radio for the first time since Ron left. He dialed through the channels until he found one playing upbeat music - no talk shows, no news, no cheesy love songs. Pulling Hermione away from the kitchenette, he tucked her into his arms and began dancing.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54
Collections: HP Pop Punk Fest 2021





	We'll Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> HP Pop Punk Fest 2021 - Day 1, Welcome to the Black Parade  
> Thanks for hosting the collection!
> 
> Please mind the tags, here, there be angst. (And also no beta, so please excuse my mistakes!)

Harry sits stony faced on the stage erected on the lawns next to the Black Lake. It's the same stage and the same location as from Dumbledore's funeral, but being one of the _honoured_ guests allowed a seat before the crowd is no more comforting.

A hole has carved its way into his chest. The layers of robes - all black - do nothing to fill the yawning cavity except hide it from view and portray the colourlessness of the void.

Ron sits beside Harry, both men silent and stiff. Harry still isn't sure how he feels about that; he's not sure if he would feel _more_ if he could concentrate on that instead of his loss and grief. 

_Everyone he loves dies_.

So many he has called friend or mentor.

His parents, gone before he can recall their faces.

Sirius, through the veil just when Harry got him back.

Cedric, murdered after finally working together in the maze. 

Dumbledore, sacrificed on the eve of war.

Dobby, slaughtered in Harry's arms while saving him.

Fred, Remus, Tonks, and fifty others taken in the midst of battle, while Harry and Hermione raced around the castle looking to destroy Horcruxes to defeat Voldemort forever.

But the one that cuts Harry deepest is Hermione, who stepped in front of Voldemort's _Avada Kedavra_ so Harry could deliver the final curse.

Ron sits beside Harry, mourning a woman he abandoned during her greatest need. Ron was not there when they broke into Gringotts or when Snatchers took them to Malfoy Manor or when they visited Mr Lovegood or when Hermione saved Harry from the locket and subsequently destroyed it or when they faced Nagini in Godric's Hollow or when they waited a week for him to come back after he Apparated away in the first place. And so Harry does not know how to feel about Ron's sitting next to him on the stage while he mourns all he has lost.

As McGonagall steps to the podium to begin a speech on love and sacrifice and grief, Harry's mind drifts away.

* * *

Hermione rushed out the tent's entrance, following after Ron's enraged form.

More than one piece of Harry's heart tore off as his best mate stomped out, flinging words Harry knew he didn't mean but still couldn't stop the sting from burrowing in. He knew Ron's jealousy wasn't misplaced, at least on Harry's part, and he knew Ron's harsh words about not having a family were right. But his best mate was abandoning him, _again_ , and the girl he… cared about very much… was following him out the door.

Harry stood alone, clutching the chain of the locket so tightly in his fist that he could feel the links cutting into his palm. He clenched his jaw and his eyes shut and seethed.

A singular, loud _crack_ echoed in his ears, and Harry hissed a profanity, alone and frustrated and scared.

As he came to grips with his new reality, still no closer to finding the next Horcrux, still no closer to destroying the one he had, faced with packing up and moving on and setting camp back up by himself, shouldering his responsibility as the solitary Chosen One, a soft hand covered the one gripping the locket.

Harry choked in a gasp, a wet heat rising up his cheeks to pool behind his closed eyes. The gentle grip coaxed his fist open, removing the Horcrux from his grasp. A quiet _jangle_ and _clink_ across the room indicated it had been tossed carelessly aside. 

When small, solid fingers wiggled in the spaces between his, Harry let his breath leave him in a wet sob. Finally opening his eyes, he stared glassily down. The cloud of ringlets that met his blurred gaze filled his bleeding heart with hope. His shoulders sagged, his free arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulders, and he nestled his face into the crown of her hair. He felt her nose tuck into the crook of his neck and the hot tears leaking onto the collar of his shirt.

Squeezing her hand as comfortingly as he could, Harry allowed them both to grieve for a moment. They hadn't stood like that together often, but something about it felt right, comforting.

. . .

A week later, they finally acknowledged that Ron wasn't coming back and staying put was too risky. Hermione began packing up, and Harry silently followed suit. Taking Hermione's hand, a motion that was starting to become familiar and natural, he Apparated them far, far away.

After they set up the tent and administered their wards together, Harry turned on the Wizarding radio for the first time since Ron left. He dialed through the channels until he found one playing upbeat music - no talk shows, no news, no cheesy love songs. Pulling Hermione away from the kitchenette, he tucked her into his arms and began dancing.

Harry knew he wasn't particularly _good_ , but Hermione let out a giggle, setting his heart to soar. They danced together for hours in the small, open space between the kitchen and the bedrooms. The locket was forgotten for a time, left on the dinner table, while they moved with each other to the beat.

Harry lowered Hermione into a dip, sending himself back to their fourth year ballroom dancing practices led by McGonagall. He'd partnered with Hermione a few times, embarrassed to touch any of the other girls so intimately. Suddenly, he was upset with himself that he'd not once asked Hermione to dance at the Yule Ball.

Still holding Hermione level with the ground, Harry said, "You were beautiful, you know?"

A blush darkened her cheeks, and Harry hoped that was a good sign.

"What? When?" She wriggled a bit, but Harry held her steady, both in his arms and with his eyes.

"At the Yule Ball. I should have asked you to dance, then."

Hermione smiled. "You were too busy mooning over Cho and Cedric."

It was Harry's turn to flush, and he lifted her back to her feet to hide his reaction.

"Yes, well, erm. I still noticed you, you know. Not that I hadn't noticed you before, or anything. And, and, not that I haven't noticed you since. You're still beautiful. I mean, err—" His eyes darted everywhere except her face as he stammered his way through his confession that he hadn't intended to be a _confession_. It was still too soon, right? Only a week had passed.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted his thoughts, a hand slipping out of his to caress his cheek. With more courage than he felt in his heart, Harry brought his eyes to meet her deep brown ones.

She lifted up, just a little, and pressed her full lips to his cheek. Harry melted into her hold, and it was a good thing he'd ended that dip, otherwise they both would have fallen to the ground. That thought led him to more intimate ones of him, leaning over her, moving over her, and he wrenched himself away before he could act on such thoughts and chase Hermione away from him too. Ron's leaving was a blow, but if Hermione left him, he knew he'd never recover. And they were _just friends_ , nothing that indicated his advances would be desired.

. . .

Over the next several days, Harry and Hermione danced around each other. 

Harry didn't bring out the radio again, and Hermione tucked herself back into her books and research. Harry took watch outside until it was time for supper, where they ate silently together at the table, the Horcrux tossed in the center while they tucked in.

If Harry spent too much time inside the tent, he gravitated towards Hermione. He'd catch himself staring at her as she tucked a curl behind an ear or as she flipped pages of the children's book Dumbledore had left her or as she pulled her thumb into her mouth to bite on the end of her nail. When Hermione caught him for the third time in an hour on the first day following their dance, Harry banished himself outside to avoid temptation and save what was left of his dignity.

Once, Harry reentered the tent to find Hermione asleep on top of the thick tome she'd been studying. He went to her side and brushed a few locks of hair off her cheek. She didn't even stir. Sometimes, he could hear her up late into the night, reading, see the faint glow of her wandlight through the cover of her sheets. His heart ached for her.

The angle of her neck looked uncomfortable, and a surge of protectiveness welled within him. Gently picking her up, he laid her down in his bunk, tucking his sheets around her form. He sat with her as she slumbered for a time before getting up to start cooking dinner.

Whether it was the sounds or smells of dinner that roused her, Hermione awoke and joined Harry at the table in time to eat the meal while it was still hot and fresh. Neither of them mentioned her impromptu nap or the bed she'd woken up in, but something in their relationship settled after that.

Harry spent more time indoors again, or Hermione joined him outside with her books. Frequently, he found her curled up in his bed midafternoon, asleep with a text open, still in her hand. Once, he stirred in the middle of the night to groggily imagine a small, warm body slip between his sheets and press against his side. He woke, astonished it wasn't a dream, with flyaway ringlets in his mouth and a dainty hand on his chest. She'd opened her eyes with a blush on her cheeks when he'd started pulling strands of hair off his lips, but he pulled her body back to his when she tried to escape. Before he could second guess himself, he'd buried his face back into her curls and pressed a kiss to her head.

After that, Hermione spent every night in his bed.

Now, though, they were at each other's throats, not a thought of their frequent tender moments to be found. They were fighting over where they should go next. 

Harry desperately wanted to visit Godric's Hollow - something about it called to him, and it wasn't just sentiment. But Hermione kept arguing back about traps and predictability.

Harry hissed a curse in Parseltongue, his green eyes flashing behind his glasses. His heart burned beneath his skin. A roar like a wall of magic deafened his ears. And a small hand clawed at the necklace around his neck.

He moved to fight her off, but Hermione had already darted away, taking the locket with her. She flung it into the other room, out of sight, and all of the fight rushed out of Harry like a dam crumpled against the weight of a mighty river.

"Hermione," Harry whimpered, and she was back in his arms once again, eyes bright and fierce. Recklessly, Harry leaned into her and caught her lips with his, meeting her fire with his own passion, emotions strung high and swirling inside him, desperate for release.

To his surprise, Hermione met him halfway, nipping at his bottom lip and slipping her tongue out to meet his. He clutched at her shoulders and crowed into her mouth when she slipped her fingers beneath his shirt. 

Fire tingled along his skin where she brushed against him, and an ache pooled in his cock as all the blood in his body rushed south. The synapses in his brain stopped firing as he wholly, mind and body, focused on one thing: getting the beautiful lioness in his arms naked and under and around him.

He tore her shirt from her torso but fumbled with the clasp at her back until Hermione took pity on him and released her breasts from her bra. As if drawn like magnets, his hands palmed her, one breast in each. He revelled in the little gasps she exhaled into the air between their mouths.

With some fancy and silent wandwork, Hermione had them bare from the waist down. Harry pulled the shirt from his back as he corralled her to his bed.

There, he laid her down on top of his rumpled sheets where they'd slept platonically the night before. Kissing her like it was the last chance he'd have, he trailed one hand down her body to the cleft between her legs. He explored her folds with a finger, moaning and marvelling at the wet heat he found. One spot at the top rolled beneath the pad of his finger, prompting a gasp and a buck of the hips from Hermione.

Harry alternated between rubbing that little bud and sliding his finger into her channel to the knuckle until he was so riled up he couldn't think straight. Hermione begged for _more, more_ , and he slotted his hard, throbbing cock at her entrance.

It took a few tries to find the right angle, but before long he pressed in, his cock parting her body slowly. The grip she had on him was hot, wet, and inescapably tight. Only a few inches in, he felt Hermione tense beneath him, a whimper escaping her throat.

Despite the urge to push, push, push, Harry stilled, swallowing a moan. Forcing his way through the haze of sex, he looked at Hermione in his arms. Really _looking_ , he saw the tension in her shoulders and neck. Her head was thrown back, and a deep furrow brought her brows together.

Shifting his weight to one elbow, Harry trailed the back of his knuckles along her cheekbones.

"Shhh, Hermione, I'm right here. I've got you. Relax." He dug the pads of his fingers into the knotted muscle of her neck. "Look at me, love."

At his gentle command, Hermione opened her eyes and tilted her head forward to a more comfortable position. Her eyes were still tight with discomfort, so he trailed his hand down her chest, down her stomach, down to that magic button that made her squirm and moan.

After a few passes, she relaxed, and Harry slipped in another inch before meeting her body's resistance again. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead from holding himself back, but it was important that he did this the right way. He wanted Hermione to enjoy this as much as he would.

"Almost there, love, we're halfway there. You're doing so good; you feel so good," he crooned.

Hermione shuttered, and Harry budged in further. He was so close he was almost cross-eyed, just a little bit more, and he knew he'd be flush with her hips, encased completely in her tight heat. 

He leaned his head down and captured Hermione's lips with his, rocking his hips as he distracted her until finally, _finally_ , he was fully seated. A wash of utter bliss trailed down his spine, and he held for her to adjust. Her walls gripped him and pulsed along his shaft.

"Merlin, you feel— I can't— It's—" Harry babbled. His eyes shut with ecstasy, and he basked in the feeling.

After a minute Hermione squirmed, and Harry's eyes about rolled out of their sockets. Using the hand stimulating her clit, Harry adjusted Hermione's leg up and out. Then, he pulled back and thrust back home.

They both let out sweet moans of relief.

Satisfied with Hermione's response, Harry set a pace to bring them to completion. It didn't take long for Hermione to chase her own pleasure, hooking her legs up higher and rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. Just as Harry was convinced he would lose the battle and lose his hold on his orgasm, he felt Hermione tense again. Her head flung back in a wave of curls, and her cunt tightened rhythmically against him, pulling his cock back in each time he pulled back. The deepest, most beautiful moan wrenched itself out of her, and Harry lost it.

He spilled inside her with his own silent groan, a choked noise of gratification and awe. Warm tingles wafted through Harry until his fingers and toes felt light and floaty. His cock pulsed in time with his heartbeat, still wrapped lovingly in Hermione's wet heat.

Riding the wave of contentment, Harry leaned down and kissed Hermione, their ragged breaths mingling as their lips collided.

Harry won their argument the next morning, and they headed to Godric's Hollow.

After that things got worse and then better for a time.

. . .

Godric's Hollow was a wreck. Hermione acquired a new book, and Harry acquired a broken wand.

The only thing that kept Harry sane was pounding his frustration into Hermione's willing, needy cunt.

Hermione was voracious. She was shy at first but quickly became more vocal when she realized Harry wasn't ever going to tell her _no_ . She seemed to know just what to say and do to take the edge off, and the first thing she always did was tear the Horcrux off his neck. She felt better than _Felix Felicis_.

It was lucky that she'd become so candid and eager because, only a couple days after Godric's Hollow, she came out of the tent searching for Harry to find him drowning in a frozen lake, inches from Gryffindor's sword, with the Horcrux strangling him. She'd rescued him and destroyed the locket but refused to tell Harry how the Horcrux had fought back against her.

Their time together became passionate yet strangely comfortable. At the end of the day, Harry had a partner to push him, to challenge him to be better, to stay focused and a home to rest and feel loved. Even though they never stayed in one location long, he'd only ever felt as at home at Hogwarts, and never so loved and accepted.

. . .

They visited Mr Lovegood, learning about the deathly hallows and nearly being caught by Death Eaters. The high of escape and another puzzle piece fitting into place led them to fucking against a tree before they'd even pulled the tent out of Hermione's little, beaded bag.

Hermione made Harry feel strong, powerful, and in control. Until, one day, he wasn't. 

One day, he said Voldemort's name and brought Snatchers down on their camp.

One day, he got himself and Hermione captured and taken to Malfoy Manor.

One day, he fought futilely against their captors as he was forced to the cellar while Hermione faced Bellatrix's wand. One day, he railed against a locked door while listening to Hermione's anguished screams. He remembered the fire of the Cruciatus curse raking his flesh from his bones and agonized over her sobs and the way her voice ran ragged. 

He vaguely remembered asking Dumbledore's eye for help and Dobby's daring rescue. He would always remember holding Dobby's bleeding body in one arm and Hermione's shaking form in the other, kneeling in the grass outside Shell Cottage.

Harry had had some pretty terrible days in his life, but that one day had taken the cake.

Things moved so quickly after that. Grief filled Harry over Dobby's death, and Hermione needed several weeks to recover. They spent all their time together, but especially with a full house, they could not pick back up the physical aspect of their relationship.

When Remus had burst into Shell Cottage to announce Teddy's birth and ask Harry to be godfather, Hermione had thrown her arms around Harry's neck and kissed him in front of the whole house. Harry had nearly burst into flames on the spot, but an ember of pride had coaxed itself to life somewhere behind his sternum. A vision of a little boy with jet black curls and jade green eyes danced across his own eyes as if a film were projecting itself against the lenses of his glasses.

Next thing he knew, they were breaking into Gringotts, stealing a Horcrux, and riding a blind dragon back out of the wizarding bank. High off their success and daring escape, they had no time to come together before they had to whisk off to Hogwarts.

The battle was a blur of reunions, basilisk fangs, Fiendfyre, and dueling. Hermione was with Harry when Snape passed along his memories and then passed away, but he snuck away from her to watch the memories alone.

Once he knew the truth, he accepted his fate and went out to meet Voldemort by himself. He passed Hermione on his way out of the castle and nearly stopped to say goodbye, to have one last kiss, but he knew that once he held her in his arms again, he wouldn't be able to find the strength to let go. With lead feet, he picked his way over the rubble and left her behind.

. . .

Harry had survived two Killing curses, and he wouldn't live past a third. Which was precisely the reason Hermione jumped in the middle of Harry's final duel with Voldemort. Posed to cast his trusty _Expelliarmus_ , Harry's mouth formed a very different spell as Hermione's body hit the floor. 

The jet of green left his wand before Voldemort could react, but Harry didn't pause to watch Riddle's body crumple. He scrambled to Hermione's side, but he knew better than most the finality of _Avada Kedavra_ and the very few exceptions that existed.

Hermione's sacrifice had been true and borne of love. But that did not grant her a free pass. She would not come back from King's Cross Station to hold Harry again or kiss him one last time or say the words he knew she felt for him.

So, while the remaining Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters scattered, Harry bent over his best friend, his lover, his Hermione and wept.

* * *

McGonagall finishes her eulogy and invites Harry up to the podium to say a few words himself.

Usually, Harry does not like public speaking. He has always hated the undivided attention of a group, especially of strangers. 

But Harry is hollow today. 

The grief fills him up and spills out of the hole where his heart used to be and leaves him feeling even emptier than before.

He pulls the crumpled parchment where he'd jotted down the words he'd decided he wanted to say in a rare moment of clarity a couple days before.

Making his way to the podium on numb legs, he leans against the structure for support. He doesn't look up at the crowd seated and standing before him.

"When I was—" Harry croaks. He clears the rasp out of his throat then casts a Sonorus charm on himself to save his already weak voice. 

"When I was a young boy, Dumbledore took me under his wing. He trained me to grow up, to be the savior of the wizarding world." Feeling the eyes of a hundred witches and wizards on him, Harry pauses, knowing no one here knows just how far Dumbledore had gone to raise him for this purpose. But he continues on. There is a point to his speech, after all. 

"Because of that training, it took me a long time to accept that I did not have to fight alone." His voice picks up speed and force as he rushes forward. "So many witches and wizards came forward to join me in that fight. And everyone who fought and died to protect the world from Voldemort was a hero.

"I'm just a man; I'm not a hero," Harry says. "And though they're… dead and gone"—he chokes on the lump in his throat, swallowing until he can continue in an even voice—"we'll carry on. The memories of everyone who sacrificed their lives for their friends and family will carry on. Even when we feel broken and defeated, we will march, we will carry on, we will live the lives they sacrificed themselves for us to live."

Stepping away from the podium as quickly as he can, Harry hopes there's enough glare off his glasses that no one will notice the tears pooling in his eyes.

He stumbles back to his seat, collapsing back in his chair as Kingsley approaches the podium next. Harry feels his heart tapping against his ribcage like a snare drum and hopes that one day he will be able to believe his own words and carry on as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this ficlet turned into a full on one shot. This was my first time writing for Harmony, so I hope you enjoyed! Concrit is always welcome, so let me know what you thought! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
